The morning after we lost Joel to suicide, I had been outside meditating when I got the call. It was 2021, and at the time I was very focused on trying to navigate my mental health, meditation being a practice I gravitated to. I would sit outside and close my eyes, listening intently to the wind blowing the trees, cars in the distance, birds singing, and my neighbors pond/waterfall.
When I closed my eyes I’d take myself to places, like clouds and forests. In this mental space, I could feel the imaginary dew on my face. I’m a cherub learning how to use her wings. The wind is cold, but refreshing.
Other times I’d be in a forest, weaving baskets and bathing myself in the river. I look over to my imaginary home, little brown babies cling onto me. I understand that this is peace. Nothing in these worlds I created had attachments to money and its stressors. This is more sacred than that. I bath in water blessed by the earth, washing my hair of energies that were never mine to carry. I make homes from the trees whose roots carry wisdom.
When I think about Joel, I associate him with one of the last times I was able to fully sit and concentrate on tending to inner turmoil. It’s almost coincidental that in my meditative state, before I got the call, I was a cherub. Focusing on how loud the air was, even when silent.
There’s a comfort in knowing that when I transition to the next life, I’ll have so many loved ones to see and connect with. It’s hard to fear death when you view it as celebration. You are home, you are surrounded with love. I hear certain songs, attend art shows that I know Joel would’ve be present at. It’s hard to believe that it’s been five years. I ache for that innocence of navigating the world with such a supportive, talented, transcendent best friend.
I have not meditated since.
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